


Defiance

by knightinslightlyrustyarmour



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU where Shireen lives, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4105132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinslightlyrustyarmour/pseuds/knightinslightlyrustyarmour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shireen is rescued from her pyre by Davos Seaworth, and begins life anew as his daughter, but the burning desire for revenge still lingers in her heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Curse On The King

The Onion Knight never left the camp.

  
There was a time where Davos Seaworth would never have questioned an order from his King, never mind outright defied it. But that was before the Lady Melisandre made her fiery entrance and Davos had to sit idly by and watch while she twisted and bent his King’s mind. He had retained a shred of hope that his King might not be lost to him right up until this morning. But Stannis had refused to listen to his trusted right-hand man, and ordered him away, despite his protests. And Davos knew then that he could no longer follow him. He meant something for Shireen, he knew he did. Something that the Lady Melisandre had put him up to. Davos loved that girl like a daughter, and having lost so many children of his own, nothing in the Seven Hells would make him turn his head whilst another was taken from him.  
So, he settled himself in a tree about a mile from the camp’s borders, as far up as he dared, his horse secured to the trunk. The winter air chilled him to his bones, and he had nothing but the clothes on his back to shelter him through however many days and nights he might be waiting. But he was not unused to the loss of superfluous appendages. Frostbite was the least of his concerns. He refused even to let himself sleep, waiting and watching for a sign that something was wrong, following all movement like a hawk.

  
He didn’t have to wait long. Davos was hoping that Stannis would at least feel guilty enough to wait until he thought the Onion Knight was well and truly gone before acting, but no. The next morning, he watched as a crowd of black-clad men assembled, appearing as no more than a dark smudge. The Lady Melisandre was obvious enough, her red hair and gown like a bloodstain on the white snow. From this distance, neither Stannis nor Shireen were visible. Davos was itching to mount his horse and race towards the camp that very instant, but held himself back. What if this was no more than a morning of prayer? He would be no use to Shireen if he threw caution to the wind and ended up without a head. Nevertheless, he descended the tree rather clumsily and began to free his horse, walking guardedly through the trees, ears cocked for any sound of voices.

  
He was listening hard for the voice of Stannis or Melisandre, for an address to a waiting crowd, so when the scream shattered the silence, it caused Davos to jump a pace back in alarm.  
“Shireen!” he yelled out, and then bit down hard on the fabric of his glove. It would do no good to be discovered now. Thankfully, and Davos felt his stomach twist at the sick irony, his shout had been drowned out by the girl’s cries. Cries to her father, to her mother.

  
Save her, Davos beseeched Stannis as he vaulted onto his horse with some difficulty, In case I don’t make it in time. Save her.

  
He kicked his horse into a swift gallop, trusting it to manoeuvre its own way through the trees as he was near to blinded with snow the horse disturbed with its hooves. He raised one hand to shield his eyes as they broke free from the cover of the forest and steered his mount towards the crowd. The screaming continued, and while it made Davos want to empty his stomach there and then to hear it, it at least meant that she was still alive. How much pomp and ceremony would surround the moments before her death? Her survival might all depend upon that. If the flames had been lit already, it would almost certainly be too late.

  
Not wanting to waste a second, he pulled his sword from his belt, and charged into the camp with it held aloft. Shireen’s screams were still coherent. The words ‘Please’, and ‘Father’ were still finding their way to his ears. But as he wove around a snow covered tent, he could have sworn he saw a flicker of flame.

  
And then, he was upon the crowd, a sea of black. But they didn’t stand a chance against his horse and his sword. He ran what might have been ten men down, killing at least four, decapitating one with his sword. Shireen looked up to meet his eyes, a scream catching in her throat, but not for long. The fire had been lit, licks of flame nipping at the hem of her dress. Her scream carried above the noise of the crowd and spurred Davos forward. The sword cut through the ropes binding her in an instant, and they fell to the mercy of the fire.

“Onion Knight!” Shireen leapt away from the stake towards Davos, tears streaked down her cheeks, flinging herself to the ground for a brief moment to stamp out the smoking fabric. As she took his hand to swing herself up onto his horse, the Lady Melisandre grabbed her foot.

  
“Ser Davos!” he heard Melisandre yell out to him “Ser Davos, stop! You know not what you do! The fate of your King rests on this child!” Rage blinding him, raised the sword still in his hand and threw it with all his might at Melisandre. It lodged in her chest. Could she die? Davos did not wait to find out.

  
“He is no longer my King,” he growled at her as she fell back, releasing Shireen’s foot “A curse on him. A curse on all who follow the Red God.” He paused for one second longer to locate Stannis in the crowd, and shot him with a glare that would have made far more courageous men than him feel a twinge of fear in their hearts.

  
And he left what had anchored him to all of his beliefs, his God, his King, his friend, and with only the small, shaking, sobbing girl clinging to his back, cast himself adrift into wherever the stormy seas of chance might carry him.


	2. A Silent Vigil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Shireen in his care, Davos now has many more problems to face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tentative go at a second chapter for this. Apologies in advance for any mistakes; my knowledge of Westeros is not encyclopedic.

Davos rode fiercely from Stannis’ campsite, his world reduced to the frantic bobbing of his mount beneath him and the arms of the trembling child wrapped around his waist. He had not yet spoken to her; he was deaf to all sound but the pulsating, hot rage that pounded in his ears. When he finally pulled his horse up short, it was after a good many miles, and then only to hastily ask her, “Are you alright, Princess? Are you hurt?” He gripped her hand reassuringly as she looked up at him. He could still smell a mist of smoke about her small frame. The girl seemed to be in deep shock.

“Father was going to burn me,” she whimpered softly, almost to herself “He was going to burn me alive.”

“I know, Princess,” Davos told her “But he’ll never be able to lay a finger on your again. Not him, not your mother, not that red witch. I’ll make sure of that. But, Princess, your father’s men may be close at hand. Tell me quickly, are you badly hurt?” It seemed to take Shireen a tremendous effort to reply.

“Only my ankles,” she told him, biting her lip. Davos looked down to see red, blistering skin peeking out from beneath her dress. Her shoes and stockings had burned half away.

“Those will have to keep for a time,” he told her “Be brave, Princess. We’ve a long ride ahead of us.”

 

Davos made directly for the Night’s Watch. He knew it was the first place Stannis was likely to send his men, but it was also the closest and most reliable source of food, furs, a second horse, and medicine for Shireen’s burns. They would stay not a second longer than was necessary, Davos resolved, as his horse charged into the cluster of dilapidated buildings. Davos accosted the first person he encountered, a fat young man bustling along purposefully.

“Hey!” he called, circling him “Ser! We need your help!”

“Oh!” the young man exclaimed, surprised, a small laugh playing in his voice “You're one of Lord Stannis' men, aren't you? I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name!”

“Samwell,” Davos barked impatiently “I have need of food, water, furs, a horse, medicine for burns, whatever the Night’s Watch can spare for two travellers. Hurry, boy! We don’t have much time!”

“With all due respect, m’lord,” Sam stuttered “The Lord Commander’s the only one who can give you that. And he’s-”

“Bugger the Lord Commander!” Davos growled, spitting onto the ground “If you don’t hurry yourself up, you’ll be condemning a child!” He leaned aside to allow Shireen to poke her head around him.

“Princess!” Sam gasped, taking a step backwards “What happened? Where’s your father? Wha- what’s going on?”

“Sam!” Shireen pleaded softly “Help us! Please!” Eyes wide beyond reason, Sam stumbled backwards, not taking his eyes off the girl.

“Wait! Wait just a moment! I will be back with your supplies!” He turned tail and ran off as fast as he could. Davos shouted after him.

“Betray us and you’ll regret it, boy!” Then, there was nothing left to do but wait for his return. Davos’ horse, sensing his rider’s impatience, walked in tight circles around the courtyard and tossed his head fretfully. Davos’ ears were cocked, listening for the slightest sound of an oncoming rider. Finally, he hopped down, in order to pack snow around the burns on Shireen’s ankles, hoping to mute the agony for a time. As she winced and bit back exclamations of pain, Davos tried to distract her.

“You know this man?” he asked her “This Sam?” She nodded.

“He’s my friend. He’s in love with the Wildling girl, the one I taught to read.” Her tone was distant. Davos reached up and squeezed her hand again.

“How do you feel, Princess?” he asked her.

“I… I don’t know,” she replied “I don’t feel like anything at all. I don’t… don’t feel quite real.”

“It’s the shock, Princess,” he murmured “I felt the same, after the death of my sons. We will ride as far as we can today, get you away from this place, and then you can rest and grieve.”

“Will it be safe to stay anywhere?” she asked doubtfully “A man with no fingers and a girl with a greyscale face. People would remember our faces. They’d tell Father where we were, if he came looking.”

“Well, I can wear gloves,” Davos reassured her “I don’t know about your face, but if you keep your hood up and your head down, chances are people will overlook you. Don’t fret.” They waited in silence until Sam came hurrying back, leading a jet-black horse by its rope, loaded saddlebags strung over its back.

“Here you are!” Sam panted, passing the rope to Davos, along with a cloth pouch full of what Davos assumed was medicines. “The horse’s name is Whiteraven. He’s quite tame. And you’ve got plenty of everything you’ll need. Enough to last you a week or two, depending on how much you eat of course. I’m a pretty poor judge myself.” He allowed himself a small chuckle, but was silenced at once by a low growl from Davos, who without a word, helped Shireen from one mount to the other.

“Is it your Lord Father?” Sam asked quietly as she adjusted herself on the saddle “Is he the reason you’re running away? Would you like me to deceive him if he comes looking for you?”

“Thank you, Sam,” Shireen told him softly “You’re a good friend to us. And very brave.” Sam laughed again, a little sadly.

“Not brave, Princess,” Sam said, looking down “Only, I know how it is, with bad fathers. Be safe, Princess.” There was a drawn-out silence, where tearful smiles were exchanged, before Davos, with a short shout, wheeled his horse about and galloped away, Shireen following close beside him.

 

The sun had long since set before Davos decided that the village they were passing through was appropriate to stay the night in. Shireen sat wide awake, but motionless atop her horse, matching Davos’ pace, eyes blank and fixed straight ahead. He stopped beside a small, near barren inn, tied the horses up outside and led Shireen in.

“Whatever food you have that is hot, and a room for the night,” he demanded of the inkeep “I can pay.” They were brought a roast chicken between them and two bowls of broth. The girl hardly ate, barely even picking at the chicken, but she wrapped her hands around her bowl and seemed to derive some comfort from its warmth. Davos didn’t press her for conversation and the two ate in total silence until Davos’ bowl was drained and the chicken was stone cold.

Once they were in their rom, wrapped in blankets and furs, Shireen whispered wanly to him "We should take new names. And invent a story about why we’re travelling.”

“Alright, Princess,” Davos agreed “You’ve read the most stories. You pick us the names.”

“Your name is Marlon Snow,” she murmured “I’m Alysanne Snow, your daughter. We’re seeking safety from the fighting in the North and hoping to find refuge in Dorne, where you hope to ply your trade as a sellsword.”

“As you say, Alysanne,” he said affectionately, stroking her hair “Now, you’d best try and sleep. We’ll have long days ahead of us yet.”

Davos allowed himself to finally drift off one hour later, once Shireen’s breathing had deepened and slowed. She looked so impossibly small, curled up beneath the furs, that a renewed wave of fury washed over him directed at Stannis. How could he even dream of harming something this delicate and precious? The few dreams he had were riddled with the theme of vengeance; Stannis on the bow of a boat lit up with a blaze of wildfire thrown by Davos’ own hand, Stannis and Melisandre tied to a stake as Davos lit their pyre. He could not have guessed how much time had elapsed before he was awakened to Shireen’s screams. Instantly alert, he gathered the girl in his arms as she thrashed, trying to wake from the throes of a nightmare.

“No, Father!” she cried, striking Davos’ face as she struggled “Mother! Help me! Please! Father!”

“Princess,” he murmured in her ear, stroking her hair calmly, though his heart was racing “Shireen. It’s alright. You’re safe here. You’re safe with me. I’m here. You’re safe. You’re alright.” Shireen fought for several moments more, before finally seeming to realise where she was. She wrapped her arms around Davos’ neck, sobbing softly into his shoulder.

“He was going to burn me,” she whimpered.

“I know,” Davos soothed “I know, Princess. But you’re safe now. I’ll protect you. He’ll never lay hands on you again. I promise.” As the two sat there, Davos comforting the child with whispered reassurances, there came a soft knock at the door. Davos felt Shireen jolt a little in his arms.

“It’s the inkeep!” said a hushed voice “I heard a scream.”

“I’ll be right back to you,” Davos assured Shireen “I’ll just send her off.” He detached himself from her and moved to the door. The inkeep stood in her nightdress outside, a look of concern on her lined face.

“My daughter, Alysanne,” Davos explained “She has suffered from night terrors since she was small. I apologize. I should have given you warning. But we are both quite alright. Thank you for your concern.” He sent her on her way with a smile and a curt nod, and hastened back to Shireen, who by then had bundled herself underneath a blanket, curled up in a tiny ball of fear, shaking with sobs. Davos only sat there a while, smoothing her hair, stroking the greyscale side of her face, until Shireen had no more tears to cry. Then came the shaking, the uncontrollable shaking, which lasted half an hour or more, accompanied by small strangled whimpers. Finally, she lay still, staring dead ahead at the opposite wall, exhausted. She said nothing, but clutched her blanket tightly to her chest, knuckles bloodless. Davos felt useless, and could think of nothing to do but help her off to sleep. Although he had never had a particularly pleasant voice, rough, scratchy and common, he wrapped his blanket around her in addition to her own, and began to sing:

_It’s always summer under the sea_  
_I know, I know, oh, oh, oh_  
_The birds have scales and the fish take wing_  
_I know, I know, oh, oh, oh_

He saw Shireen slowly relax as he quietly made his way through the nonsense verses of her favourite song. When he ran out of verses, he started again, and again, and again, until Shireen had long since fallen into a deep and peaceful sleep. He did not rest for the remainder of the night, keeping a silent vigil over his small new companion, until the sun had broken over the horizon and the girl stirred once more.


	3. Steel-Plated Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shireen is hell-bent on becoming a smuggler, and Davos is starting to see a new side of her that unnerves him a little.

It went like this for many days and nights: waking, eating, riding, eating, riding, eating, sleeping, waking, comforting, sleeping, waking… Davos quickly settled into his persona of the paternal, yet deadly Marlon Snow, and even more quickly began to think of Shireen as a daughter. Shireen remained quiet and wan, except for her violent outbursts each night. She would wake any number of times; Davos was there to hold her for every single one of them. However, gradually, she began to get some of her old self back. Sometimes, she would pull up her horse to admire a pretty bird or woodland creature, or to remark to Davos how that old tree, or that man, or that house reminded her _just_ of something in one of her stories. As they travelled further and further from the North, the burns on Shireen’s ankles faded until they were almost gone. With the wounds, Shireen’s thoughts of her former life also seemed to fade. She stopped referring to Stannis as ‘Father’, calling him by his given name when she had to call him anything at all. She had taken to calling Davos ‘Father’, even when they were alone, seeming to take comfort in the pretence. Davos had taken to wondering if it was a pretence anymore. Perhaps she really believed the story.

“Would you take me on a boat, Father?” she asked one day several weeks into their journey “Only, I know how you used to be a smuggler. It sounds very exciting to sail across the Narrow Sea and beyond!”

“Of course,” he told her fondly “Though of course we’ll do it honestly. My days of crime are long behind me and I’ll not have you arrested.”

“I don’t think I would mind,” she said softly “It seems rather exciting.”

“It is very exciting,” Davos admitted “But a pursuit for those much older than you, who are not so worried that they should lose a few fingers, or a head.” Shireen nodded and changed the subject, but Davos could tell that she was only placating him. Shireen had a habit of attaching herself to whimsical fantasies, and he was sure she didn't fully comprehend the dangers and perils of defying the law. 

 

In one town they passed through, Davos managed to purchase a book for Shireen from his dwindling coins. It was a luxury, he knew, and one he could scarcely afford, but he felt more than recompensed for the sum when he saw Shireen’s face light up and her fingers joyfully rifle through the pages.

“It is perfect!” she cried aloud “A tale of the White Walkers, the First Men and Brandon the Builder! Thank you, Father!” She jumped up into his arms and kissed his cheek.

“You must read it with me sometime,” he told her. Suddenly, a thought struck the girl and she looked him squarely in the eyes.

“Father,” she challenged him “How did you afford this?”

“Never you mind,” Davos reprimanded her gently “It is worth more to me than a thousand gold dragons to see you happy again.”

“It does not matter if I’m happy if you run out of money!” Shireen told him firmly “This book is more than I could have dreamed of, but I did not need it! What is your plan? Where are we to go?”

“What would you say to riding to the Bay of Crabs?” he asked. He had been mulling this over for several weeks. “I can pay for passage for us to Pentos. I have some smuggler friends there, who owe me some debts. I can find some work there.”

“You mean we’re going to be smugglers after all?” Shireen asked, her face lighting up “Can I be your First Mate?”

“No!” he told her for what felt like the thousandth time in exasperation “It is not a trade for men with many other options. It is not an honourable trade, not even a noble misdeed like you find in your books. It is a crime!”

“Stannis cut off your fingers for smuggling,” she commented softly.

“Yes, he did,” Davos said, relieved that he was finally getting through to her.

“Then I want to do it,” she told him firmly “I want to do it right under his nose. I want to take revenge on him!”

“As far as revenge goes, Shireen, smuggling isn’t the most effective method. Now the politics, that’s where you really want to hurt him.”

“Alysanne,” she corrected him “I’m Alysanne now. And perhaps smuggling isn’t the most effective method, but it feels right. Do you know that feeling, Father? When something doesn’t make sense, but it feels right?”

“Aye, Alysanne,” he told her “I do indeed. But put aside these dreams for now, and let’s ride for the Bay of Crabs. Once we’re safe in Pentos, we’ll talk of what we want to do.” She acquiesced to him placidly, but as Davos rode in silence beside her, he reflected on the change that had come over her when he had tried to deny her. He had never seen the girl petulant before, but this was something that chilled him more than if she had merely sulked. No, in Shireen’s eyes, Davos had seen something dangerous. Something cold, and hardened and icy. Something like what Davos had often seen in Stannis’ eyes when he was wronged. Shireen was her father’s daughter, all right, no matter how she tried to deny it. Davos thought the Seven must have been playing a cruel joke, waiting until she had denied her father entirely to make the resemblance apparent.

 

They made it to the Bay of Crabs unrecognized, and Davos paid for a cabin for them upon a trader’s ship. Shireen instantly befriended the captain’s son, Robert, who showed her how to climb the mast and drop the anchor, while the captain shouted after him about the dangers of greyscale. When Davos mentioned his previous experience on ships, riddled with half-truths of course, the captain kept him constantly busy, recruiting him as a navigator, lookout, and general helper in exchange for a reduced fare. Davos felt a thrill at being back upon the open ocean. It had been far too long and the last time was a blur of wildfire, pain and loss. The salty smell and the icy wind, unpleasant though they were, made him feel for the first time like everything might actually be all right.

Davos often caught Shireen shimmying up the mast in the trousers that Robert had lent her, her long hair blowing out behind her like a sail, a strip of cloth holding it back from her face. She looked as if she belonged at sea, her wiry, lithe frame seeming to be at one with the rough slats and sharp edges of the boat. He felt a sense of pride as he watched her grow stronger, managing to climb higher and higher by the day. Confined no longer by her title, her father, the thick walls of Dragonstone, she was unfurling her wings to feel the world around her and Davos, who had sailed around Westeros, Essos, the Summer Isles, was certain that this was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. She would return to his side hourly, to update him on whatever adventures she may have had.

“Father,” she would sometimes tell him “I have been teaching Robert how to read words with the book that you bought me! He is a slow learner, but he smiles so beautifully whenever he manages to make his way through a sentence!”

Or other times “Robert and I tried to fish over the side of the ship with some lines he got in Lorath. I caught nothing, but he caught a small grey fish and gave it to me to keep! Here, look!”

Or still other times, “Captain Arrec let me steer the ship this morning! Even when the wind picked up, and it started to drift, I kept it on course!”

The day they moored in Pentos, Robert took Shireen by the hand and vaulted her over the side of the ship. The two of them took off running down the dock, Shireen’s hair flying behind her like a veil.

“Will they be alright?” Davos asked Arrec, looking after the two small figures in concern.

“Oh, yes,” Arrec told him easily “Robert knows every nook and cranny in every port this side of the world. Likely, he’ll want to show her off to his friends. They’ll be back within the hour. In the meantime, why don’t you help me with these barrels?” When he caught Davos continuing to follow her with his eyes, he slapped him on the back.

“Don’t you fear for your daughter, Marlon,” he laughed “Robert’s an upstanding lad. I’ve raised him well. You know, you have been a great help to me on the voyage, and Alysanne fine company for Robert, and not half bad around a ship either. Why not stay on and take on some honest work with us?”

“Trading, you mean?” Davos asked.

“Aye,” Arrec replied “I’d pay you well enough, and you’d get to see the world over.”

“I am wary of taking Alysanne back to Westeros,” Davos admitted “Mostly to the North and Dragonstone. Would that be a hindrance?”

“Not at all,” Arrec waved his concerns away “We trade with the Night's Watch sometimes, but we scarcely ever go to Dragonstone, and if necessity requires it, she can always stay below decks. Ah, think it over Marlon! It is so very hard to find strong, honest help these days!”

“I will speak with Alysanne,” he told him “And if she is comfortable with such an arrangement, then I shall accept your offer. I did not have any sure offer of work in Pentos, anyhow. Just a few shaky ties here and there. And Alysanne does love being upon the ocean.”

“It’s clear she’s inherited that from her father,” Arrec laughed, and Davos had to pause a moment to work through why Arrec thought that Stannis Baratheon was at home on the sea.

“No,” he laughed, when he finally figured it out “The girl’s not at all like me!”

“On the contrary,” Arrec told him “She is everything like you. I can see you in her smile, in the way she speaks and moves. She has grown up idolising you, that girl, I can tell.”

“You’re very kind to say so,” Davos said, feeling a small plucking at his heart as he saw Shireen’s smiling face in his mind’s eye.

“I would not say it if it were not true,” Arrec told him “That girl is in good hands with you. Now, hurry up! These barrels won’t unload themselves, you know!” Davos cast one last, lingering look down the bustling Pentoshian street, before turning his gaze absolutely towards the work that needed to be done. 


	4. Red and Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second-to-last chapter I have planned! Thanks so much for leaving kudos and reviewing! I appreciate it so much!

_**Five Years Later** _

Alysanne Snow had everything she had ever wanted. A father who adored her, a friend as loyal and true as any in the stories, a fine ship that crested the waves majestically when the ocean was storm-tossed, and a reputation as a smuggler.

Yes, she had managed to persuade her father, Marlon, to take up smuggling once more. It had not happened all at once, rather, incrementally, they had begun to carry items in secret. First, some food to aid a castle under siege. Then, coins and other wealth. Then, weapons. The underbelly of Essos and Westeros alike began to know his name, and, by association, Alysanne’s. Far from being a hindrance, the fact that such a great smuggler had a child at his side made it easier to carry out such misdeeds. Who was likely to be overly harsh on a father and daughter trying to ply their goods? Not to mention the greyscale was something of a deterrent.

 

What Alysanne remembered from that day was the cold. It was unusually cold, even for midwinter. And the sleet, which battered down against her face as she and Robert tried to keep a hold of a piece of rigging that had snapped loose. By all accounts, they should never have been out on the water in such weather, but the storm had crept up on them suddenly, the clouds pouring across the sky like someone had spilled them. They were drenched within seconds, and it was of little use going below decks to grab more layers, for those wouldn’t have stood up to the downpour any better. Alysanne saw her father at the wheel of the ship, squinting ahead over the foamy waves as he shivered and hunched his shoulders inwards to fend off the pervasive chill.

“How far off are we?” she screamed across the deck, her voice battling for control against the wind.

“No more’n twenty miles!” he shouted back “But for all I can see, we might dock between jagged rocks!”

“This mast is out of control!” she told him, the rigging she was clutching on to dragging her back and forth across the deck. Marlon cast a glance back at where she and Robert were struggling, and abandoned his post on the wheel. He let the ship drift of its own accord across the waves as he hauled the rope back to its rightful position and tied it firmly in place.

Just as he had finished securing it, Robert called from the railing in a panicked tone “Marlon! Marlon! Ship to the starboard side! Coming right towards us!”

Alysanne ran just behind her father to the side of her ship, slipping and stumbling as the rain lashed at her face. Raising a hand to shield her face, she peered out over the raging water and saw a ship larger than their own ploughing through the waves right towards them.

“Alysanne! Robert!” Davos called to them, running for the wheel “Go below decks and fetch us weapons! It looks like a slaver’s ship!”

Alysanne’s fingers were numb as she fumbled about in the stash of smuggled goods for swords, axes, shields, jars of wildfyre, anything. When she emerged back into the open air, the ship was almost upon them and she could see a cluster of men standing at the helm. No mistaking it, they were slavers. The make of their boat, she thought, was Westerosian. So not typical criminals from Slaver’s Bay.

“Robert, steer the ship to safety!” she yelled at her friend over the howling storm “Father and I will fend them off!”

“Be careful, Alysanne!” he called back. Neither Robert nor she were experienced fighters, and had not yet reached their fifteenth birthdays. Robert was a tradesman’s boy. His experience lay in the deft work of knot-tying, monetary sums, languages and it was evident in the way he swung his sword like a child playing a game. Her father had imparted some of his skill to her, and she was no longer weak and frail, but she was not a very intimidating picture, a small, bedraggled girl holding a sword that was half her height with both hands. Still, Robert held no delusions of superior masculine strength. He knew that their crew had a better chance of survival with him at the helm and her with the weapons. He sprinted, sword in hand, to relieve Marlon of his post. They swarmed aboard the ship, those men, with their bared longswords and teeth. Alysanne counted six and she heard them laugh at the brave defenders there to greet them. They must have felt more than confident in their abilities to overwhelm the crew of three, for two of the men instantly disappeared below decks to raid and plunder their illegal goods.

“Come quietly, girl, and we won’t harm you,” one of the men laughed.

“You’d better leave now!” Marlon threatened, brandishing his sword “The child’s got greyscale!” Alysanne pushed her drenched hair back from her face to reveal the marred cheek. The men exchanged concerned glances.

“You seem to be standing comfortably close to her, old man,” one remarked “For one so afeared of the greyscale. You hear of those who get grayscale in their infancy who survive. You can touch those one’s safely. I reckon that if this girl’s as contagious as you’re making her out to be, you’d have sent her to the ruins of Volantis to live with the Stone Men a long time ago.”

“Do you really want to take that chance, though?” Marlon asked “Greyscale’s a death sentence!” Just at that moment, one of the men who had gone below ran back up onto the deck shouting ‘There’s stacks of gold down there! Gold and weapons too! Smugglers, this lot are!' The men turned to Alysanne and Marlon, greedy grins on their faces.

“Yes,” he answered Marlon “Yes, I think we will take that chance, old man.” One of the three who faced them had followed his companions below to raid the supplies, so it was Alysanne and her father against three grown men.

Marlon inched forward, positioning himself so that the men would have to move around him to get to Alysanne.

His sword flashed out like a silver bird being released, an arc of rainwater soaring skywards. One of the men fell to the side, his blood washing away across the deck until it was no longer visible to Alysanne’s eyes. Her father’s sword had hacked into the man’s midriff and was lodged firmly between two ribs. As he struggled to pull it free, Alysanne dove between him and the second man advancing upon him and attempted to fend him off, pushing herself in close to him so he couldn’t get a good swing at her. She pushed him back from her father until his sword was dislodged and he decapitated the man she was struggling with with one hard blow.

Alysanne and Marlon circled the last remaining man. Alysanne’s hair was matted with fresh blood, having borne the brunt of the river that had flowed from the dead man’s neck. The last man on deck stood between father and daughter and Alysanne stood next to helpless as she saw the three men emerge from below decks.

“Father, look out!” she screamed to him, trying to sidestep the man in her way. He blocked her path with a sword and she had no choice but to parry. Under the man’s swinging arm, she caught glimpses of her father trying to hold off three other men. She saw one fall, blood running through his bright yellow hair, and a second one, who continued to writhe in pain after he had been felled, then a third. Distracted, she was slow to defend herself and a blow glanced off her sword at an angle that made her fall to the deck. The man attacking her looked so huge, standing above her, the point of his sword ready to bear down into her body. Closing her eyes, Alysanne thrust her sword upwards, felt it pass through soft flesh, heard a choking, gurgling moan. When she opened them, the man had crumpled beside her, blood pouring from his mouth. The point of her sword had passed through his stomach and up between his ribs, emerging from the back of his neck. Breathing a sigh of relief, she pulled it free.

“Father!” she laughed “Father we did it! We’re safe!” She looked up, wiping the blood out of her eyes, only to see that the man standing above her wasn’t father. It was a short redheaded man at least twenty years younger than her father, whose sword tip glistened with blood.

Alysanne reeled back, her eyes casting wildly about for her father. She looked at the figures who had been felled in the battle, the three men she thought had been killed by her father while she faced off against her opponent. And there she saw the dark hair, dark cape, wrinkled face and bloodstained sword of her dear father. His stomach had been pierced, but he still moved faintly, wrapping his body around the wound as if to hold in his life’s blood. Alysanne wanted to run to him, but standing in her way was the red-haired boy, who seemed delighted that the haul of the ship would belong entirely to him.

“If you leave now, I won’t kill you,” she threatened and her voice was as unsteady as the boat beneath her feet. The boy only laughed.

“I mean it,” she told him “I killed the man back there. I can kill you.”

“And I killed that old man back there,” he told her “I think I can kill a little girl.”

“Please,” she begged “My father’s dying! I need to go to him!”

“You’ll join him soon enough wherever he’s going,” the boy retorted pitilessly. Alysanne’s whole body was shaking and she couldn’t breathe properly. The world was swimming before her eyes. In one desperate, stupid, panicked moment, knowing that by the time a swordfight had been concluded her father would surely have already died, Alysanne threw her sword as hard as she could across the deck towards the boy, who was too stunned even to move. The Gods must surely have been smiling upon her that day, for it lodged in his heart, buried halfway up to the hilt. He crumpled almost instantly and as he fell, a memory surfaced in her mind. Another red-headed villain, another sword lodged in the chest so that man and girl could be reunited. Another time. But a very real wave of anger that flooded through her. And suddenly, that red-headed boy was Melisandre. And she had killed her father. And it was Stannis Baratheon’s fault! Wasn’t that ship Westerosian in make? It could have come straight from the ports of Dragonstone.

Sobbing and shaking as a confusing tumult of emotions jostled for space within her, she ran past the boy bleeding out beside her and fell to her knees beside her dying father.

“Father,” she choked around hysterical sobs “Father, you mustn’t die!” She pulled his head onto her lap. “I’ll have no-one left in the world!” With what seemed like a great amount of effort, Marlon uncurled himself and reached up to take her hand.

“I’ll… I’ll try… to stay,” was all he could manage. Alysanne pressed down on the wound, trying to keep some of the blood inside.

“Robert!” she screamed across the deck, to where her friend was still steering the ship, shaking worse than she was, if that was possible “You must get us to a port! Anywhere! My father is hurt badly!”

“Shh!” her father hushed her, squeezing her hand “You will be… alright.” Alysanne looked into his eyes and saw them growing foggy and dim.

“What will I do without you?” she squeaked, giving up on trying to hold in the flood of scarlet and instead curling herself up beside him.

“Whatever… whatever you need to,” he choked “I… I trust you. I love you… beautiful daughter.” His last act in life was to reach up with all his strength and caress her marred cheek with shortened fingers. Then, he choked up a mouthful of blood and fell limp upon the deck.

And the rain stopped.


	5. The Purest Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is fifteen years later, and the time has come for Shireen to take her revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter! If you read this, I would dearly love a review telling me what you thought! Constructive criticism is great too!

**Ten Years Later**

It had been fifteen years since the War of the Five Kings, fifteen years since a tentative peace had been established across all of Westeros. House Targaryen once more held the Iron Throne, House Stark, the North. A fragile calm had fallen. But that was of little concern far across the sea, where the great smuggler Grey Aly dominated the High Seas. Most of what was known about her was little more than rumour and speculation. The most common was that she had survived the dreaded greyscale, which had rendered so many men little more than deranged statues. The rumours differed from person to person. Despite her criminal status, people spoke highly of her. Of how she was ruthless, yet just and fair. Of how she had steel behind that pair of kind eyes. Of how her word was her bond, of how she would never betray a comrade for anything. Of how she risked her life to save her friends.

Her boat was an small, plain thing, much like its captain, but a faster, sturdier boat money couldn’t have bought. Those who were paying attention one morning in the docks of Braavos might have seen her sitting upon the deck of it, mending a sail. If they were paying close enough attention, they might also have noticed a scrawny young boy dash up to her with a scrap of paper which he slipped to her discreetly. Grey Aly rewarded him with a kind word and a handful of coins.

_Grey Aly,_ the note read

_Be advised on good counsel from your loyal supporters in Westeros, that Lord Stannis Baratheon has taken ill with a sickness of the heart. His maesters report that he has but a few weeks to live. Presently, he resides at Dragonstone, with no plans evident to remove him from his current situation._

_Ever your servant,_

_Red Cyprus_

Though the words scrawled spoke of dwindling time and haste, Grey Aly made her way to the bow of the ship slowly, twisting the paper between her hands, folding it repeatedly, before finally throwing it to the mercy of the waves, where it dissolved into nothing.

“Robert!” she called across the deck “Tell Ferrego and Breqqo we will come back for their goods in time and make the ship ready to leave as soon as you can! We sail to Westeros!” When Robert had nodded and run off, Grey Aly let herself slip down onto the deck, pulling her trousers up to her knees to examine her legs. The burns had well and truly faded now, only a couple of spiderweb scars remaining, but she could still feel the flames creeping up them, the smoke choking her. She ran her hand over her face, fingers tracing the ridges of the dead flesh. Her face, a memento of a father’s love, her ankles, a reminder of his betrayal.  Aly could not deny it, even to herself. She was scared. But Stannis Baratheon was dying. Fear could not hold her back any longer. She tugged the legs of her trousers back down around her ankles, braided her hair down her back and fixed her eyes on the western horizon. This was it.

Days later, she arrived in Dragonstone’s Grand Hall, flanked by a pair of thoroughly bemused guards. The last thing they had expected from their day was for the most infamous smuggler in the known world to show up at the gates demanding an audience with their liege lord, and, lacking any idea of what to do in such a situation, had complied.

Alysanne’s first glimpse of Stannis Baratheon almost sent her reeling for the exit, but she steeled herself and continued to walk forward.And how different this man was from the giant, imposing father figure she remembered. This Stannis Baratheon had aged thirty years when he should rightfully have only aged fifteen. His eyesight had all but gone, his skin was wrinkled and veined, his joints had swollen and he sat hunched over, like a man with a great weight upon his shoulders.

“Who goes there?” he asked, and his voice was an old man’s rasp.

“Er… Grey Aly, m’lord,” a guard said tentatively, unable to keep the uncertainty from his voice “The… the smuggler. She demanded to see you, m’lord. Should I… should I lock her up, m’lord?”

“She is unarmed?” Stannis asked.

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Grey Aly,” he said, unable to find her with his eyes, staring about two feet to her left “I have heard much of you and your crimes. This is the second time in my life I have had a notorious smuggler stand before me in this very hall of their own volition. I took the fingers of the other.Tell me, what madness could possibly send you here?”

“Did you really never make the connection?” Grey Aly asked, biting back a laugh of disdainful mirth “I am surprised! I always thought you an intelligent man!”

“The connection?” Stannis asked in exasperation “Are you here to waste my time! Say what you are here to say quickly, or I shall have you executed before another word can pass your lips!”

“Believe me,” Grey Aly told him sincerely. She made to move forward towards him, but a guard grabbed her shoulder and held her back. “I am most certainly not here to waste your time. I would never take a meeting such as this lightly. Father.” There was a long silence, and Alysanne heard Stannis’ breathing hitch ever so slightly. It was a long moment before he spoke again, so long that Alysanne began to wonder if the shock had killed him outright.

“S-Shireen?” he asked at last “Is that you, my daughter?” Her face broke into a smile.

“Yes, Father,” she said “Shireen.” Stannis made as if to stand up, his gnarled hand clutching the arm of his chair. But eventually, he fell back, one hand clutching at his heart as he gasped.

“Pollock! Thoros!” he said sharply “Leave me alone! Leave me alone with my daughter.” As soon as the door had closed behind them, Alysanne ran right up to him and knelt before him, kissing his hand. Stannis reached out his free hand to caress her face and hair.

“Shireen, my precious daughter,” he whispered in a rasp “You have grown. You are a fine woman now. But, in my mind’s eye, I still see my sweet child. Oh, Shireen! What I did to you was unforgivable! I betrayed you. To hear your voice once more is more than I deserve.”

“The red woman tricked you, Father,” Alysanne told him gently “She was cunning. Tell me, where is she now?”

“Dead,” Stannis replied “Dead the day Ser Davos lodged a sword in her chest. She was only a human after all.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Alysanne smiled “Father, may we go somewhere a little more comfortable, and warmer, to talk? I have had a long voyage, and this cold, damp hall must be a burden on your bones.”

“Of course, dearest daughter,” Stannis agreed “But I fear you may have to assist me. I am old and weak.”

“Of course, Father!” she obliged, tucking herself under his arm, offering herself up as a crutch for him.

They reached a small antechamber soon enough, one that was bedecked with comfortable chairs and furs, lined with torches and braziers, buried so far inside the thick walls of Dragonstone that the cold and rain could not seep in.

“My dear Shireen,” Stannis rambled, all the while as they walked and as Alysanne set him down upon a softer chair “I never thought I’d see you again. When my men could not find you, I believed you dead. Your mother, she hanged herself the next day. Oh, Shireen, my dearest girl! I’m so happy to see you once more!” As he talked, Alysanne had retreated a few paces. She was at work ripping a strip of fabric from the hem of her shirt. Stannis did not see.

“After I lost you, I was so ashamed of what I had done, I eliminated all traces of R’hallor and the Red Faith from Dragonstone. I reinstated the statues for the Seven. I sent away all the Red Priests who landed on my shores hawking their religion. I prayed to the Seven every night for your forgiveness. I-” His speech was cut off as Alysanne abruptly clamped her hand over his mouth, pushing a wad of fabric inside and gagging him firmly. Stannis tried to shout for help, but even if he was able to overcome her gag, he did not have enough strength in his lungs to send his voice carrying beyond the heavy wooden door which Alysanne had shut behind them. Once he was gagged, she tied his arms and legs, an almost pointless action, as he did not have strength enough to resist. As he lay immobile on the floor, propped up against the chair, she walked slowly and deliberately over to the wall and lifted down a single torch.

When she turned, her eyes were flat and dangerous.

“I heard you were dying,” she told him in a low voice, as he lay there breathing heavily, eyes wide “I heard you had a matter of months to live. I was scared of coming back. I never wanted to have to face you, to look you in the eyes ever again, so I distracted myself with smuggling for many years. But I needed justice for myself. No matter how much I feared you, I had to pay you back for what you did to me. You have no idea, the nightmares which have plagued me...” She turned away again for a second and when she turned back, her icy, fierce demeanour had shattered, and she was crying tears of anger.

“I said I would do anything to help you, and you took advantage of my love for you and tried to kill me!” she shouted at him “You tried to burn me alive! You watched as I screamed! I was your child! Your daughter! Your only child! I loved you! All I wanted was for you to love me too! Your men tied me to a stake as I begged and pleaded with you! And in the end - oh, how ironic! - in the end it was Mother who tried to intervene! Mother, who always hated me because I wasn’t a boy! Because I was wilful, because I was disobedient! When Ser Davos rescued me, I disowned you as a father forever. He became Father to me. I was his daughter. And he was a better father to me than you ever were! I wish I could tell you just how much you hurt me, but there aren’t words! There will never be enough words, not if I screamed at you until I died!”

She paused to catch her breath and then seemed to make up her mind. She walked over to Stannis until she was standing right above him, ashes from the flame dislodged by her shaking hand falling gently down onto his face. His eyes were wide, fearful, but not pleading. Aly could see he knew he deserved this. And she almost stopped. Almost walked out of the room and left him to his guilt. Almost returned to Braavos knowing he would have to live for the rest of his pitiful life with the regret fresh in his mind. But he had suffered enough guilt in his pathetic life. He had yet to feel proper pain, to truly feel what he had done to her. Dying quietly in bed as his heart gave out on him would not teach him the lesson he deserved. So, she only looked coldly down on him, haughty, tear-filled eyes gleaming in the firelight.

“Death by fire is the purest death,” she said contemptuously, before throwing the torch into the pile of fabric, furs and flesh, and walking away to the roar of crackling flames and muffled screams.


End file.
